Volume I Part 27 (1/2)

One restless corner of my heart or head, That holds a dying something never dead, Still frets, though Nature giveth all she can.

It means, that woman is not, I opine, Her s.e.x's antidote. Who seeks the asp For serpent's bites? 'Twould calm me could I clasp Shrieking Bacchantes with their souls of wine!

x.x.xIII

'In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce p.r.o.ne Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce, Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!

The young Pharsalians did not disarray Less willingly their locks of floating silk: That suckling mouth of his upon the milk Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray.

Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight, They conquer not upon such easy terms.

Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms.

And does he grow half human, all is right.'

This to my Lady in a distant spot, Upon the theme: WHILE MIND IS MASTERING CLAY, GROSS CLAY INVADES IT. If the spy you play, My wife, read this! Strange love talk, is it not?

x.x.xIV

Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes: The Deluge or else Fire! She's well; she thanks My husbands.h.i.+p. Our chain on silence clanks.

Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.

Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!

The journals, too, I diligently peruse.

Vesuvius is expected to give news: Niagara is no noisier. By stealth Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She's glad I'm happy, says her quivering under-lip.

'And are not you?' 'How can I be?' 'Take s.h.i.+p!

For happiness is somewhere to be had.'

'Nowhere for me!' Her voice is barely heard.

I am not melted, and make no pretence.

With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.

Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.

x.x.xV

It is no vulgar nature I have wived.

Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned, And not a thought of vengeance had survived.

No confidences has she: but relief Must come to one whose suffering is acute.

O have a care of natures that are mute!

They punish you in acts: their steps are brief.

What is she doing? What does she demand From Providence or me? She is not one Long to endure this torpidly, and shun The drugs that crowd about a woman's hand.

At Forfeits during snow we played, and I Must kiss her. 'Well performed!' I said: then she: ”Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?'

Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!

x.x.xVI

My Lady unto Madam makes her bow.

The charm of women is, that even while You're probed by them for tears, you yet may smile, Nay, laugh outright, as I have done just now.

The interview was gracious: they anoint (To me aside) each other with fine praise: Discriminating compliments they raise, That hit with wondrous aim on the weak point: My Lady's nose of Nature might complain.

It is not fas.h.i.+oned aptly to express Her character of large-browed steadfastness.

But Madam says: Thereof she may be vain!

Now, Madam's faulty feature is a glazed And inaccessible eye, that has soft fires, Wide gates, at love-time, only. This admires My Lady. At the two I stand amazed.

x.x.xVII

Along the garden terrace, under which A purple valley (lighted at its edge By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge Whereunder dropped the chariot) glimmers rich, A quiet company we pace, and wait The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm.

So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late: Though here and there grey seniors question Time In irritable coughings. With slow foot The low rosed moon, the face of Music mute, Begins among her silent bars to climb.

As in and out, in silvery dusk, we thread, I hear the laugh of Madam, and discern My Lady's heel before me at each turn.